


The Real Monsters

by KDblack



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 12:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20796818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDblack/pseuds/KDblack
Summary: The one where the crew of Mystery Inc aren't human, and they've been searching for someone else like them for a long, long time. Fred breathes smoke when he's anxious, Daphne thinks snakes are cool, Velma needs to stop messing with her programming, Shaggy wears hoof inserts, and Scooby wants chicken.





	The Real Monsters

Once the thrill of solving another case wears off, the atmosphere in the Mystery Machine fills with relief – Shaggy and Scooby – and disappointment – everyone else. Another false lead. Another failure under their belts. Daphne sits beside Fred, staring through the windshield, willing them to leave city limits faster so she can take off her wig. Her snakes are getting restless, which means she's more snappish than usual. Her contacts itch.

There's no music playing. They can all hear Velma's circuits whir in relief as her social protocols are finally powered down. She shifts in the rear view mirror, her posture going from 'energetic nerd girl' to ramrod straight. A blank mask settles over her round face. She looks curious, because of course she does. Curiosity is Velma's default setting.

“Well,” Fred says, painfully loud and painfully earnest. “We solved the mystery. And we saved that town from getting destroyed at the hands of a ruthless oil tycoon. That's something, right?”

“Yes,” Velma agrees. Her tone is flat, mechanical. Her lips are still. “Though I don't understand why disguising his employees as a giant snake monster was his first resort.”

Daphne sniffs. “Because snakes are cool, duh.”

Fred's eyes meet hers in the rear view mirror. “They sure are.”

He's smiling at her, and for a moment, Daphne can't help but smile back. Then she coughs and turns away, fixing her gaze safely outside.

“Re're rungry!” Scooby announces, bouncing up and down in his seat like a puppy. 

“Yeah,” Shaggy says through a mouthful of... something. Hopefully actual food and not the van's upholstery. “Can we stop for dinner?”

Velma's neck creaks when she turns it at certain angles. It probably needs oiling. “Shaggy, you're eating right now. Just share the chicken with Scooby.”

“Are you kidding?” he demands. “Look outside!”

“It's a full moon tonight, Velma,” Daphne says. “Scooby's gonna be contagious for a bit.”

After a moment of silence, the redhead vents exhaust in a mimicry of a sigh. “I need to update my calendar. I deleted some things to make room for a simulation of the serpent to make tracking it easier.”

A hint of brimstone has Daphne wrinkling her nose. Fred must be nervous. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He's drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his nails a little too long, a little too dark.

Yep. Definitely nervous.

“Velma, you need to be more careful with your memory,” he says. “What if you delete something important? None of us are any good at computers. We won't be able to fix you-”

“Did it work?” Daphne asks.

“I based it off of the data I gathered from observing you,” Velma says. “It should be more accurate when tracking actual snake monsters.”

In other words, 'no.'

“At least we have something to work with.” Daphne stretches and wriggles back in her seat. Her wings have been folded in for days. They ache.

“Like, Daph, your face is slipping.”

Really? She lets out a deep, guttural sigh. “Thanks, Shaggy.”

It is slipping. Some of her snakes peer suspiciously through the gap between wig and false skin. She reaches for one rubbery ear and tugs her mask back into place. Scaly green truth vanishes once more under smooth white falsehood. Living a lie is easy, once you get the hang of it. 

“We'll be on the road again soon,” Fred promises. “Then we can all relax for a bit.”

“That had better include you, Freddie.” 

He grimaces at the windshield. “Daph, I'm fine–”

“You're leaking sulphur and your nails are sharper than mine. Shapeshifting may be more convenient than masks, but you're still not Velma.” She pats him on the shoulder, enjoying the infernal warmth. “Come on. Let your wings out for once.”

Black eyes flicker between her and the road. Finally, he sighs affectionately. “All right, Daph.”

She grins and faces forward again. Victory.

“Like, seriously though, can we stop for dinner? Scoob and I are really hungry.”

Fred sighs again with considerably more exasperation. “We just bought you two food. Can't you make it last until tomorrow?”

“Nope,” says Shaggy.

“Ru-uh,” says Scooby.

Fred breathes out a plume of thick, dark smoke. And then, because he's Fred, he cracks open a window. “Fine. But we all need a break, so it'll be a few hours. Think you can hold on until seven?”

“Rhat's rood!” Scooby announces. Bones crack and shift as he raises a foreleg and gives them a thumb's up.

“Arm down!” Shaggy scolds him. “We're still in town! People might see.”

“Rorry.”

Honestly, Scooby's probably the safest of them. Shaggy's always scratching at his fur or forgetting to wear his hoof inserts, Velma's foam cushioning can only disguise so much of her metal frame, Daphne has been known to bite people who won't take 'no' for an answer, and Fred is... well. A giant, blond boy scout with anxiety issues who breathes smoke when he's angry and overcompensates for every moment of perceived demonhood with over-the-top goodness. Compared to them, Scooby-Doo, oversized great dane who likes to jump around, paw at things, and mimic his people when they talk, has it easy. Daphne can't really hold it against him, though. He's too much of a sweetheart. Besides, they're all in this together.

In a few hours, they'll reach another town. The group will peel off one by one: Shaggy and Scooby will head straight to the 'all you can eat' restaurants, and then the park, where they'll play fetch and mimic peoples' voices for fun; Velma will go the library and begin scanning everything they have; Fred will find people who need help, which he'll provide at the low, low cost of a tiny scrap of soul; and Daphne will sink into a tanning bed until her cold reptilian body buzzes with energy. Then they'll congregate around Velma in the library and start their search up again. A new case. A new monster. A new hope that this will be the day they find someone else like them.

Right now, Shaggy groans and shoves his mask up so he can fit more chicken in his mouth. It makes for a funny picture: some unshaven teenage punk with his face rolled up to his nose, the hairy goat muzzle poking out from underneath buried in a container of fried chicken. Daphne's fingers itch for her phone. Norville Rogers, 17, hungry, preserved for all time. A precious memory none of them can risk keeping.

Instead, she smirks. “Shaggy, your face is slipping.”

He bleats and sticks his tongue out at her. She hisses and sticks out her own forked tongue, waggling it aggressively. He yelps and drops his KFC.

“Wha – no, Scoob! I was eating that!”

Scooby snickers, the bucket safely in his paws, and winks at Daphne. “Rhanks!”

She flashes her fangs in a grin. “You're welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fred is a demon.
> 
> Daphne is a gorgon.
> 
> Velma is a robot.
> 
> Shaggy is a goatman.
> 
> Scooby is a werewolf. Or rather, a reverse-werewolf.


End file.
